I sit at the same desk that 20 years ago held my younger self
that version who stared out the window as she typed about the NPT, Iraq, Vietnam, and global security
contemplating Friedman’s claim the world was (now) flat
she was hungry, creative, smart, and was so, so, ready to spread her wings
she was also scared, unsure, and couldn’t explain why she felt sad
20 years can change a lot of things, but it doesn’t change the way the light filters into the computer room, the view out her childhood window, her father resting in the room below, or the swooshing of the cars as they glide by on the wet road–
her favorite lullaby
that and the sound of rain drops,
when she closes her eyes it transports her to many places her past self was–
the top bunk of a bed
grey Sundays that transition to dinnertime
playdates with friends
walking home in the cold
a warm, loving house
sitting on a canopy bed
summer nights outdoors
curled up with a book close to the radiator
if I could send a note to those selves, those beautiful versions of myself
I’d just say one thing:
you will be okay, you are enough, it will work out
the sagacious bee 